


Broken Crown

by Baliano711



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Everything Hurts, M/M, My feels are hurting, Reconciliation, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baliano711/pseuds/Baliano711
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gareth has never felt this betrayed by his own body- this isn't fair. None of this is fair. </p><p> </p><p>A reaction fic to all the sadness that has been occurring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Crown

'We'll wait and see before running any tests', with those unintentionally condemning words he's effectively taken off the pitch and he can feel the worried stare of his team mates as he limps away with the assistance of the handlers.

The pain in his thigh had been sharp and agonizing, one second he was fine the next he felt as if every nerve ending was firing off all at once. 

"What's wrong? Gaz, is it your leg? Talk to me" Cristiano's voice was laced with worry, kneeling down to make their eyes level knowing that Gareth was a bad liar and his eyes were a huge reason; they always revealed the truth. "I don't know it just hurts" he'd answered tearfully looking up at Cristiano, so disappointed that he wouldn't be able to help the team, the fans were turning on him and this would only solidify their belief that he was a liability. He's sent home told to put ice on it and wait. 

Wait.

 

A driver takes him home, even going as far as to help him up his stairs and deposit him on his couch before leaving him with a quick, "Get well soon Señor Bale" that ends with a clap on the shoulder that does nothing to lift his spirits. 

He stares vacantly at the wall for a few seconds before pulling out his phone up check the score, 3-1. They've won. 

Without him. 

An early goal from Sergio and goals from Cristiano and James. The new dream team, as the media as coined them appropriately with the way they seem to work so effortlessly together on the pitch, assisting each other in a way he's been unable to this season. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before pushing his dejection to the back of his mind, they've won that's the most important thing. He scrolls down the screen of the match report, breath catching when he sees a picture of Luka sprawled on the ground with an arm clutching his knee. _No, no please not Luka, not again damn it_! 

With lightning fast fingers he shoots off a text to this dear friend- 'Are you okay?' and he doesn't have to wait long for a response, 'I don't know. They said I have to wait to find out' he can feel the frustration in the terse wording of the message, the same frustration he feels. 

Luka doesn't deserve this he'd paid his dues, sat on the sidelines for months and returned to the resounding reception of the Bernabéu, he was supposed to save them all from sinking, patch up a gaping hole in their ship and instead he has been handed another disastrous crushing blow. His heart feels heavy like an anchor has been tied around it and thrown overboard. Sleep pulls him under without his permission, wiping his mind clean of the worries that plague him. _Just close my eyes for a little_.......

At first he thinks he has to be dreaming; dreaming of the hands that caress his face, stroke his hair while drawing him into a warm body. His sleep-addled brain is not yet ready to process coherent thoughts, so instead he makes a soft noise of consent and allows the petting to continue. 

It's the familiar scent of exotic-spicy cologne that identifies who exactly has broken into his house, Cristiano and it's very reluctantly that he draws back from the welcome embrace. 

He's expecting a look of pity- you poor thing, but instead he's met with trepidation and a soft half-smile, "I used the key you gave me, I hope I didn't overstep any boundaries but you weren't answering your phone and I got worried" the Portuguese reveals and he gazes around the room looking for this wayward phone before catching sight of it face first on the carpeted floor, must have fallen in his slumber. 

He leaves it there, he doesn't want to see anymore unpleasant news there has already been enough. 

"Are you okay?" there it is again. That question that he doesn't even know how to start answering, it's only inquired when its assumed that someone is _not_ okay; he's always been confused by the insistence of asking it. Cristiano wants him to say yes, yes it was just a strain, muscle fatigue but he doesn't _know_ and they aren't telling him anything. 

Wait.

He has to wait. 

Cristiano leans forward once again catching his eyes, blue ice clashing with dark chocolate pools, before that rumbling soft baritone reaches his ears "I was so scared seeing you like that Gaz." 

He's told him countless times not to call him that-Gareth is not that long I don't need a nickname- but there's something about the tone of his voice and the fact that only the Portuguese calls him that, that brings a smile to his face. "I'm good now, that you're here" he whispers and the smile that he receives following that statement is almost enough to make him forget how broken he feels, physically and emotionally. 

"I'll always be here, there is nowhere else for me to be but with you" Cristiano's eyes reveal his sincerity, they are the windows to his soul and he wants to believe the words no, declaration so badly. But there has been a rift between them lately, a tension he tries to ignore but it's glaringly obvious out there on the pitch where Cris can never hide his true feelings. 

The screams of annoyance, the forced hugs that leave Gareth feeling empty and how sparsely their eyes meet now. He has noticed it all and pushed it away, but now Cristiano is sitting here telling him that he'll always be here. How can that be true when Gareth feels like Cristiano hasn't been here for months? 

He opens his mouth to express that sentiment but the forward beats him to it quick here as well, " I'm sorry I've been.... _shit_ to you, to everybody. I....I have no excuses, I let the media get to me with their speculations and commentary on my.....declining form. But today, seeing you in pain Gaz that hurt more than anything they could ever say to me. I felt like it was my heart on the pitch" the Portuguese apologizes leaving him feeling breathless. 

His body starts to shake from the excess of emotions he's felt today- disappointment, sadness, anger, resignation, hope, love. 

He doesn't realize he's crying until long fingers wipe the warm trails from his cheek, immediately he's pulled into strong waiting arms a symphony of shhh's highlighting the loud broken sobs that leak from his lips. "It's not fair...it's not fair" he hears himself proclaiming, none of this is fair; his best friend who just returned from injury is on his way back, the club has been handed a huge blow and he's proven to the fans that he's not worth one cent of the millions Madrid has paid for him. 

"I let them down" he feels the soft pressure of a hand carding into his disheveled hair, pulling until he's face to face with a stern faced Cristiano Ronaldo. "Hush, you've let no one down. Your real fans won't blame you for this, they appreciate all you've done and will do for this club, don't listen to the rest. They don't deserve to even be acknowledged by you, you're one of the best things that's ever happened to this club-to me" tears fill his eyes but this time for a completely different reason. 

When they kiss its soft and chaste, just a brushing of lips with the faintest of pressure. He's carefully situated in a warm lap and he sighs on relief when Cristiano arranges them alleviating the pressure on his legs. 

Languid slow kisses leave his head dazed, he draws away to catch his breath but is quickly accosted for another heated kiss that makes his toes curl in his socks. Cristiano laps into mouth, drinking down his subsequent groans of pleasure that escape as a result of the scintillating ministrations, he feels drunk off lust. 

Unaware of the tightening of the arms wrapped around his waist he squeaks when they're suddenly moving, wrapping his arms even tighter around the corded neck to prevent himself from falling. Not that Cristiano has ever let him fall. 

Well, the first time he fell there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it, _that_ fall was inevitable. 

He's placed gently on the waiting bed as his lover treats him like breakable glass, which almost makes him snort remembering how contrasting this is to how Cristiano usually treats him in bed. That thought gets his blood running down south so quickly his head spins. 

Cristiano smirks has if he knows exactly what dirty illicit thoughts are on his mind, he squirms under the weight eyes descending in embarrassment; he's still not as confident as he would like to be with regards to intimacy. 

"None of that tonight, I just want to hold you." He's a bit disappointed at first, that would take his mind off everything but he knows Cristiano is right having sex now would only give him temporary relief, and he needs more than that. 

He needs Cristiano to pick up all the broken edges and piece them back together, he needs the soft words of reassurance-reminders that he's wanted even if it doesn't feel like it right now, and most of all he needs to be infinitely covered in unconditional love. Right now, he has everything he needs. The rest of the world can wait.

 

"I wouldn't say no to a quickie in the morning though......Gaz? No one falls asleep that fast!"

**Author's Note:**

> This was simply therapy, seeing Cris with Gareth was such a beautiful moment despite it coming at such a painful expense. Animo Gareth and Luka!


End file.
